Ready
by allthingsdecent
Summary: What if Cuddy found out about Lydia while House was still at Mayfield?


**This one comes from a prompt by suzmum: What if Cuddy found out about Lydia when House was still at Mayfield? Special thanks to survivachick and Z for helping me fill out the plot and encouraging me to post this (because I was THIS close to trashing it). Still not sure it's any good, but hey, YOLO, right?**

One of the most annoying aspects of Cuddy's job was the many social events she had to attend on behalf of the hospital.

"Just make a cameo appearance," the board chairman would always say—as if he was asking her to run down to the Quik-Mart for a gallon of milk.

The "cameo appearance", of course, usually required putting on a nice dress, getting a babysitter, and reminding herself to smile as she made small talk with a bunch of terminally dull (but rich!) potential hospital donors.

She was particularly dreading tonight's fundraiser because it was for the Mayfield Psychiatric Treatment Center, where, of course, her favorite damaged diagnostician was currently residing.

Not a day went by when she didn't think about him, wonder how the rehab was going, wonder what it was like for him to be housed among the mentally ill—not as a doctor, but as one of the patients. House's breakdown was a clear sign of mental illness. She had no illusions about that. But he belonged at Mayfield about as much as he belonged in a monastery. Then again, that was the problem with House. He didn't really fit in anywhere.

Luckily, patients didn't attend these fundraisers—although former patients and family members sometimes did. Still, it was weird. Just knowing he was nearby. Knowing that his doctors might be milling about. And while she schmoozed, and drank lousy chardonnay, and talked to overly attentive men who were nodding at her spiel while secretly looking down her blouse, she kept thinking of him. So much so that her mind must've really been playing on tricks on her, because she suddenly swore she saw him.

She had gone outside to get away from the crowds and there was a man and a woman sitting side-by-side on the patio. She could only see them from behind, but the man's posture was disarmingly similar to House's. Tall, slender, long-necked, slightly round-shouldered. But this man had a near crew cut and, just from the tiniest bit of his jaw she could see, a nearly full beard. Plus, he was wearing a suit. (Did House even own a suit?) Still, the more she stared, in disbelief, at his back, his posture, the more convinced she was it was really him.

It wasn't _that_ far-fetched. It was a fundraiser for the hospital he was staying in. Maybe he had received some sort of day pass.

The woman, for her part, had shortish hair and a flowy, sort of bohemian style and she seemed very wrapped up in what he was saying. There was a kind of flirty chemistry between them.

_It's not really him, it can't be him. _

Cuddy maneuvered herself, discreetly, to get a better look at them just at the exact moment that the woman leaned in . . . and give him a gentle kiss on the mouth.

Cuddy recoiled a bit, and managed to knock into a passing waiter who was carrying a try, which dropped, with a clang, to the ground.

The couple immediately turned in the direction of the noise and Cuddy could clearly see now that it really was him. Her mouth dropped open. For a second, their eyes met. The reasonable thing to do, of course, would've been to wave, walk over, give House a hug, introduce herself to this strange woman. But instead, a kind of self-preservation instinct kicked in and she turned and ran away, quickly, back inside.

"Cuddy!" she heard House yell.

He had left the woman alone on the bench and was limping after her.

"Cuddy!

But she kept walking, quickly, faster than him, even in heels, through the crowd, to the exit, and into the parking lot. When she got into her car, she realized that she was shaking.

#####

When House got back to the patio, he was surprised to see Lydia was still there, waiting for him.

"Who was that woman?" she said.

He suddenly felt trapped.

"I . . .I don't know for sure. I thought it was . . .my boss at Princeton Plainsboro."

"Your boss?"

"Yes," House said. He was still looking at the place where Cuddy had been standing, as though she might magically reappear.

"Then why didn't she stop when you called out to her?" Lydia said.

"I don't know. I. . .maybe I was imagining her. I have a habit of doing that."

"What?"

"Never mind. . ." He shook his head, as though clearing cobwebs. "I'm pretty sure it wasn't her."

"You seem upset."

"No," he tried to smile—remembering that a few minutes ago she had kissed him, which at the time, had seemed like a very positive development. "I'm not."

"But you love her?"

He flinched.

"She's my boss," he said.

"And you love her."

"It's. . .complicated."

"I can see that," Lydia said. She folded her arms a little defensively.

"Now _you're_ upset," he said. (How had things gone south so quickly?)

"I'm not upset. It's just that we shared this romantic moment together and then, the next thing I know, you're running away from me and chasing after another woman."

"I'm sorry. She . . . surprised me. I guess I freaked out. But, like I said, it probably wasn't even her."

"And what if it was her? Why would she run away?"

House considered that.

"I guess she didn't want to see me."

"Because you and I kissed?"

He closed his eyes, scratched his head.

"I . . . doubt that was it."

"Why else?"

He inhaled.

"Because she's not ready, I guess. . . . She's actually part of the reason I'm locked up here."

"She had you committed?"

"No. . .nothing like that. I'm on a voluntary hold, technically. Although Nolan and I have very different concepts of the word voluntary."

"What then?"

"I. . .I'd rather not talk about it," he admitted.

"But she is important to you."

He swallowed a bit.

"Yes," he said.

"I guess I'm glad to find that out sooner rather than later," she said.

"You're important to me too," he said, lamely.

"For now," she said, quietly.

"What?"

"Nothing." She smiled, knowingly, squeezed his hand. "Let's get out of here, shall we?"  
######

"So what happened?" Alvie said to House.

"Oh, so you're talking to me now?"

"No. . ."

House sat on the edge of the bed, took off his shoes, still reflecting on the bizarre evening.

"Was it fun?"

"You're doing an excellent impression of a guy who's talking to me."

"Forget it," Alvie said, sulkily. Then, a moment later: "So was it?"

House sighed.

"I. . .don't know."

"How can you not know if it was fun? Either it was fun or it wasn't."

"It was . . .both. It was fun at first and then I thought I saw someone I knew and everything fell apart."

"Who?"

"This woman."

"Ooooh, the plot thickens. Your girlfriend?"

"No."

"Your ex?"

"No."

"Laura Bush?"

House shot him a look. "No. Why would you even say that?"  
"I just always thought it was funny that her last name is Bush."

House shook his head.

"Goodnight, Alvie."

"Wait! You didn't tell me about the mystery woman. Did you kiss her?"

"No…not her."

"You dog! You kissed another woman? You had two women at this event? Some guys have all the luck."

"Oh yeah," House said. "That's me. One lucky bastard."

######

At his therapy session the next day, Nolan gave House a big grin.

"So," he said. "How was it?"

"Okay," House mumbled.

"Okay? It seemed like it was going well. Last I left you, a lovely young woman was bringing you wine."

"Lydia. She's the sister-in-law of the one of the patients here."

"She seems nice," Nolan said.

"She is."

"So why was the night just 'okay'?" He did an impression of House's gruff, mumbly voice.

House gulped a bit.

"I think I had a . . .setback."

Nolan frowned, folded his arms.

"What kind of setback?"

"I don't know. I think I may be hallucinating again."

"I don't believe that, House," Nolan said, confidently. "The progress you've made here wouldn't suggest that at all. What do you think you hallucinated?"

"Cuddy. . .I, uh, thought I saw her at the party."

"She's a hospital administrator. It's not completely beyond the realm of possibility that she'd be there."

"It was the timing of when I saw her," House said.

"Timing how?"

House looked down.

"Lydia had just. . .kissed me. And then, moments later, I'm seeing Cuddy."

"So you think your subconscious conjured her out of guilt?"

"How am I supposed to know? One minute I'm kissing Lydia. The next minute I'm chasing Cuddy through the party. It was . . .surreal."

Nolan picked up the phone—unusual mid-session.

"Carol, can you have the development office fax me the guest list for last night's fundraiser? Thanks."

He leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head, waiting for the fax to come in.

Moments later, it did. He scanned the list.

"Dr. Cuddy, comma, Lisa," he read with a knowing smile. "You weren't hallucinating."

"Congratulations," House said.

"I'm happy for you, not me," Nolan countered.

"Admit it, if I still was hallucinating after 3 months of therapy, it wouldn't reflect well on your clinical abilities."

Nolan ignored him.

"So. . .we've established she wasn't a hallucination. Now what?"

"I don't know. Like I said, she ran away."

"Because she saw the kiss and it made her jealous."

"That's one theory."

"What's another one?"

"That she freaked out. That she's not ready to see me. The last time I saw her, I was insisting that she nursed my psychic wounds and boned me sober. I'd run from me, too."

"That doesn't sound like her."

"You don't know her."

"I feel like I do…through these sessions."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm still guilty of painting a too rosy picture."

"Oh yeah, that sounds just like you."

House shrugged.

"And where does Lydia fit into all this?" Nolan probed

"She doesn't."

"But you like her."

"Yes. Lydia is. . .an oasis."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning. . . my link to the real world. Look, I know I belong here, okay? I get that. But I needed that one foot on the outside, too. That one person who didn't treat me like a headcase or an addict or some delicate flower that was easily crushed. She treated me like a man."

"You are a man."

"When you have a curfew, no access to a phone, and they make you pee in a cup twice a day, it doesn't quite make you feel that manly."

"I'm sorry. It's protocol."

"I know. I'm just saying. Lydia has been my . . .little corner of sanity."

"And how about the kiss?"

"I didn't even have time to enjoy it. Once I saw Cuddy everything turned to shit."

"Maybe you should be focusing less on what you don't have with Cuddy and more on what you do have with Lydia."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's the not the same."

"Maybe it can be."

"You don't have a clue what you're talking about."

"So enlighten me."

House hesitated.

"I've been in some form of love with Lisa Cuddy for the last 25 years. A little schoolboy flirtation with the nice lady in a mental hospital isn't going to change that."

"Okay, so what's the next step?"

"I get out of here and wait for Cuddy to not be afraid of me."

######

A few days later, Cuddy got buzzed by her assistant.

"There's a woman here to see you."

"A woman?"

"Her name is Lydia. She says she's a friend of Dr. House."

Cuddy had a hunch who it was. She pulled a compact out of her purse, looked in the mirror, reapplied some lipstick.

"Send her in," she said.

It was, indeed, the woman from the Mayfield fundraiser. Cuddy got a closer look at her now: Light hair in a near pageboy cut, a mustard-yellow sweater with a purple scarf, jeans. Pretty, but in an unfussy way. Everything about her was understated, sensible.

"You know who I am?" the woman said. She had an accent—German maybe, or Austrian.

"Yes," Cuddy said. "I think so."

"So that _was_ you at the party?"

"And that was you. .."

"Yes. Can we go someplace to talk?"

"I don't know what we have to talk about," Cuddy said, reluctantly.

"I think you do," Lydia said, plainly.

Cuddy looked at her. Something about her almost guileless candor was disarming. Then she picked up her phone. "I'm going out for a bit," she said to her assistant. "Cancel my 2 o' clock."

######

They went to a coffee house near the hospital. Cuddy ordered a skim latte; Lydia ordered a chai tea.

"So, you were Greg's lover?" Lydia said, before they had barely settled in.

Cuddy was taken aback.

"What? No!" Then she narrowed her eyes. "Why? Did he say we were?"

"No," Lydia said. "I just assumed. Your presence was very. . .disruptive on Friday night."

"I didn't mean to be. I had no idea he would be there."

"His doctor wanted him to socialize more. Make personal connections."

"He was making a personal connection alright," Cuddy said under her breath.

"You saw us kiss," Lydia said.

"Yes."

"And that's why you ran away?"

Cuddy bit on her stirrer.

"I guess so. Yes."

"Greg didn't think that was it."

"He didn't? What did he say?"

"He wasn't even convinced it was you. He said he had a history of imagining you."

"Oh God," Cuddy said. "Poor House."

"But then I pressed him. I said, what if it was her? Did she run away because she saw us kiss? And he said, It was more likely that that you weren't ready to see him yet."

"That definitely wasn't it. I just .. .freaked out."

Lydia chuckled. "Greg used the exactly same phrase. Freaked out."

"So you two are. . .friends?"

"Friends, yes," Lydia said. "I thought maybe more. Now I'm not so sure."

"Because of me?"

"Yes, Dr. Cuddy. Because of you. He was gone once he saw you. Not mine anymore. Yours."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It just made me. . . curious."

"About what?"

"About you. Your relationship with Greg."

"How about an exchange of information?" Cuddy said. "It's like Fort Knox over there. They won't let us visit him. They won't even let us call."

"Different patients have different visitor privileges," Lydia explained.

"And you? What's your connection to the hospital? Are you a. . .doctor there?"

"No. My sister-in-law is a patient. But she's catatonic, so my presence doesn't really affect her, one way or the other."

"I'm sure it does," Cuddy said, politely.

Lydia gave a shrug.

"Perhaps…" she said, wistfully.

"So how did you and House meet?" Cuddy said.

"We played the piano together. Well, _he_ played the piano. I banged out a few notes. . . At first I didn't know he was a patient. I thought he was a doctor at the hospital. But I should've figured. He's so…sad."

"Sad?"

"Yeah. That's part of what draws me to him, I suppose. He has this alluring air of melancholy."

"Alluring air of melancholy," Cuddy repeated, thinking it over. "So then what? You two became friends?"

"Yes. He and I just clicked. We could talk about anything. I started to realize that my trips to the hospital were as much about seeing House as they were about seeing my sister-in-law."

"So your sister-in-law is. . .your brother's wife?" Cuddy probed.

Lydia looked up from her chai.

"No, my husband's. Yes, I'm married. Suffice it to say, it's complicated."

"It always is. . ."

"And you and Greg?"

"Complicated doesn't begin to cover it."

"You're his boss?"

"Yes."

"But you two are also . . .together?"

"No. Not technically. We've had what you might describe as 25 years of foreplay."

"So you've never. . .?"

"Once. A lifetime ago."

"And now?"

"I honestly don't know. My relationship with House has always been like . . . sand through my fingertips."

Lydia was quiet for a minute. She seemed to be studying her.

"Well, I can certainly see why he likes you," she said finally. "You're absolutely stunning."

Cuddy blushed a bit.

"So are you."

Lydia smiled.

"No, I'm plain. But pleasantly so, I'm told. People say that I'm accessible."

"People say that I'm terrifying," Cuddy said.

They both laughed.

"But is he okay?" Cuddy said. "I mean, really. Is he going to be okay?"

"I think he's going to be just fine."

#######

A few days later, House was happy to find Lydia sitting on the piano bench, idly playing a few keys of Clair de Lune.

He sat beside her, began playing along, jazzing up Debussy's melody with a little improv of his own.

"Show off," she teased.

He stopped playing.

"I wanted to talk about…the other night," he said. "I'm sorry about the way things …shook out. But it turns out I was right. It really was her."

"I know," Lydia said.

House furrowed his brow.

"How do you know?"

"Because I went to see her."

His face turned white.

"You _what_?"

"I went to see her. At the hospital."

"Why the fuck would you do that?" he snapped.

Lydia was taken aback by the anger in his voice. She had never seen him like this.

"Because I'm developing . . . feelings for you and I wanted to see if this woman was going to come between us."

House now stood up from the piano bench.

"You had no right!" he said.

"I'm sorry. I just, I'm not the habit of setting myself up to get hurt."

"My relationship with Cuddy is none of your fucking business. I did not give you permission to talk to her! I did not give you permission to meddle in my life!" he was shouting now. So much so that he attracted the attention of one of the orderlies, who came rushing in.

"Calm down, Dr. House," the orderly said.

House shot him a lethal look.

"I'm fine!" he said.

"It's okay," Lydia said. "We're fine. You can go back to whatever you were doing."

"I think it's time Dr. House went back to his room."

"And I think it's time you went to hell," House said.

"Dr. House, come with me," the orderly said firmly.

"I'm trying to have a personal conversation here. Can you give me five goddamn minutes please. Just be a decent human being and give me five minutes? Is that so much to ask for? And then I'll go wherever you want. Hell, you can strap me to the bed again."

"We're fine. Honestly," Lydia repeated..

The orderly pulled out his walkie talkie.

"I have an unruly patient in the lounge. I need assistance."

House's shoulders slumped. He closed his eyes tightly.

"That won't be necessary," he said, allowing himself to be led away. "I'll go."

"I'm sorry," Lydia said.

"Good," House snarled. "You should be."

#####

He was relieved to see her the next day, sitting on the piano bench, but not playing the piano.

"You came back," he said, sheepishly.

"My sister-in-law," she noted.

"Of course, right."

"And you, too," she admitted.

He smiled sadly.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, fine. . .At Mayfield, anytime you get upset, they shoot you up with drugs. Which is ironic, because half the reason I'm here is because of an overreliance on drugs. Anyway, I slept it off. For 14 hours."

"Good."

"I'm sorry I yelled at you. That was wrong. Please forgive me."

"I do," she said. "And it was wrong of me to go visit Dr. Cuddy without getting your permission."

"Yeah," House said, gingerly sitting down next to her on the piano bench. "It was."

Lydia smiled a bit—he was stubborn, even when apologizing—but said nothing.

"You know, in some parallel universe, where I didn't see Cuddy, she didn't go to that fundraiser, I could see myself developing feelings for you."

"But not the same kind of feelings you have for Dr. Cuddy."

"No," he said honestly.

"For what it's worth, I think she feels the same way about you," Lydia said.

"Yeah?" He felt ridiculously encouraged. "Why? Did she say something?"

"Nothing specific. She said you two have had 25 years of foreplay."

House laughed. "That's accurate."

"But she's unsure of how you feel about her. And she characterized your relationship as 'sand through her fingertips.'"

"And is she. . .scared of me?"

"Scared of you? Definitely not. She cares for you deeply."

House nodded, tried to swallow back the wave of emotion that was flooding over him.

"And she wasn't angry that you came to see her?" he asked, finally.

"No," Lydia said, with a half-smile. "We understood each other."

######

"Feeling better today?" Nolan asked.

"Just dandy."

"I heard there was some sort of. . .incident."

"Yes, I wasn't sufficiently zombified so they carted me away and shot me up with tranquilizers."

"The orderly said you were pretty upset."

"I guess." House shrugged.

"What about?"

"Lydia went to see Cuddy behind my back."

"And why did that upset you so much?"

"What part of _behind my back_ didn't you understand?"

"Don't be coy. What part of her visiting Cuddy specifically upset you?"

"I'm just. . .frustrated," House said.

"Frustrated how?"

"Cuddy saw me at my absolute lowest. The moment I realized that I was batshit crazy. I couldn't explain myself to _myself,_ let alone her. Then, she runs away from me at the fundraiser. Then, Lydia goes to see her behind my back. Do you see a pattern here?"

"Miscommunication with Cuddy."

"Try _no_ communication with Cuddy. It's not fair."

"No," Nolan said thoughtfully. "It isn't."

#######

Cuddy looked down at her dayplanner and rolled her eyes.

Somehow, after much pestering, Lucas had convinced her to have lunch with him. ("It's just lunch!" he whined. "Not a marriage proposal.")

She considered canceling but it occurred to her that Lucas might actually have some insight into House. After Wilson and, well, herself, he was arguably House's best friend. Ever since Lydia had come by for a visit, Cuddy could think of little else. ("He and I just clicked," Lydia had said. "We can talk about anything.") Lunch wouldn't be a total bust if she could at least pick Lucas's brain—well, what there was of it at least.

"What kind of woman do you picture House with?" she asked, shortly after they'd ordered (Lucas: Chicken strips and fries; Cuddy: Cobb salad).

"What do I care?" Lucas said, with a grin. "Wanna know what kind of woman I picture _myself _with?"

"No, I mean. Do you think he might be served better by being with a nurturer? An earth mother type?"

"I like sexy brunette hospital administrator types," he said.

She folded her arms.

Lucas sighed, realizing that he was expected to answer.

"Frankly, I can't imagine a woman like that being interested in House. He's not exactly the tree hugging type."

"But if she was interested?"

"I'd say a woman like that might be a nice balance to his relentless cynicism and terminal asshole-dom, okay? Now what kind of man do you envision _yourself_ with?"

"Not you," Cuddy said, distractedly.

"Geez, shoot a guy down, why don't you?" Lucas grumbled.

#####

House straightened his tie and looked glumly around the room.

Nolan had characterized tonight—a small cocktail party at the manor house to fête a couple that had built a "meditation garden" on the Mayfield campus—as a do-over.

"I feel like you were making real progress at that last party until fate conspired to ruin your evening," Nolan said.

"But will she be there?" House said, meaning Cuddy.

"Not unless one of the trustees specifically invited her. It's a very small party."

House had nodded.

"If you think it's therapeutically beneficial," he muttered.

"I do."

So he put on the suit and tie again and ordered a scotch and hovered around the buffet table, feeling vaguely like he was about to jump out of a plane.

"Having fun yet?" Nolan said, sidling up beside him.

"I don't know a soul here," House said. "Except for you. Which is the very definition of lame."

"Did I ever mention that, on top of being Mayfield's Director of Psychological Services, I'm also a trustee?" Nolan said.

House squinted at him.

"Your point?"

"My point is, you might want to go outside and get some fresh air," Nolan said.

"Wha—?"

"Just go outside and get some fresh air, House."

House gave him a curious look, but went outside, onto the stone deck. There were a few people milling about, drinking. And then he saw her.

She had her back to him, and was leaning against the railing, which looked out over the meditation garden.

She was wearing a simple and elegant blue dress and a shawl was draped over her shoulders.

House stood there for a moment, marveling over her stillness and beauty, even from behind. He inhaled.

"What are you waiting for, man?" said Nolan, who had followed House onto the deck. "Go talk to her."

"You arranged for this?"

"Yes. I thought it was time."

"Does she know. . .?"

"She doesn't have a clue."

"I . . .don't know."

Nolan side-eyed him.

"It's not like you to be timid, House."

House gripped his cane a little tighter.

"I'm . . .just. . ."

"Scared?"

House blinked.

"Yeah."

"Don't be. I'm right here if things go wrong. Which, I suspect, they won't.

"You're not going to be watching us the whole time are you?" House said. "Because that'll be creepy."

"I'll be inside. If you need me, you find me. Deal?"

House nodded slowly.

He gave Nolan an anxious look and then approached her.

"Are you going to run away again?" he asked.

She turned, surprised, then a little embarrassed.

"Sorry about that," she said. "This weird fight or flight instinct kicked in."

"I understand," he said, smiling at her.

She smiled back.

"Wow," she said, taking him in. "You look good, House. Healthy."

"I feel good," he said. "Vicodin-free for 90 days. I celebrated by getting a tattoo."

"_Really_?"

"No."

She laughed, sheepishly.

House pulled a cigarette out of his jacket pocket.

"I have, however, picked up a few new vices."

"Gross," she said.

He raised his eyebrows, then chucked the cigarette, irreverently, into the meditation garden.

"Better?" he said.

"Much. . .although I don't think littering in the meditation garden is _quite_ what they had in mind."

"Baby steps," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

She laughed.

"So I, uh, heard Lydia paid you a visit. . ." he said.

"Yes, she did."

"Sorry about that."

"Nothing to apologize for. She's lovely, House."

"Yes, she is."

"I'm happy for you."

"For _me_?"

"That you found someone."

"I didn't _find_ anyone. I already have someone," he said pointedly. "At least I . . . hope I do."

"But I saw you kiss her!"

"Actually, you saw her kiss me. Important distinction."

"You didn't seem too upset about it."

"I wasn't. Until you showed up, reminding me that there's only one woman I ever want to be kissing."

Cuddy looked down.

"Don't say that," she said.

"Why not? It's true."

"I like Lydia. I can see her having a very calming effect in your life."

"Calm is over-rated."

"I seem to send you to extremes," she said.

"Incorrect. I send myself to extremes by not being direct with my feelings."

"Wow," she said, with a small chuckle. "You _have_ been in therapy."

"Yes, I have. And it has clarified what I really want."

She bit her lip.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe we just weren't meant be?" she said, looking at him.

"No," House said.

"I just feel like our. . .timing is always off."

"What about right now? Is our timing off right now?"

"You're in a mental institution," she said, dryly.

"Good point," House said. "But not forever."

"No," she said. "And I want to you know that your job will be waiting for you the minute you get out."

"But what about you?" House said. "Will you be waiting for me?"

She sighed, looked at her hands.

"I've always been waiting for you, House," she admitted.

"I've been here the whole time," he said.

He looked at her, expectantly. He wanted to kiss her, which she could tell, just from his posture, the eagerness in his eyes. So she lifted her chin toward him and almost reflexively parted her lips.

He leaned toward her and kissed her. Everything about them had always been so passionate, so combustible, so red hot—that constant push/pull of unresolved ardor. But this kiss was tender, a whisper—their tongues only grazing, House's hands gently cupping her face.

They both sighed, somewhat swoonily, when they parted.

"That was nice," Cuddy said.

"Yeah," House said. Then he looked at his watch. It was well past his 10 p.m. curfew.

"It sucks being a man in captivity. I gotta go," he said.

"Good night," she said.

He smiled at her and went back into the party, where he found Nolan, sitting at the bar, his arms folded, beaming at him.

"You've got moves, House," Nolan said. "I'm impressed."

"You said you wouldn't watch!"

"Actually, I said I'd go inside. I didn't say I wouldn't watch from inside."

"Bastard."

"That looked very promising."

House couldn't help but to give a slightly proud grin.

"It was."

"And I hope you finally asked that long-suffering woman on a proper date."

"Bit tough to romance a woman from inside the walls of a mental institution."

"Exactly. Which is why I'll be signing your release papers tomorrow."

House's mouth dropped open.

"Really?"

"You're ready," Nolan said.

House looked back onto the balcony, where Cuddy had been standing.

"I think we both are," he said.

THE END


End file.
